Michael's eyes widened as a flash of green caught his attention—a single glowing ring revealed just beneath the cuff of the man's sleeve. The shock was so great, he almost forgot to accept the handshake.
"L-Likewise," he managed, reaching for the man's outstretched hand.
But before he could react, the tutor gave his hand a sudden tug. With practiced ease, he lifted Michael's sleeve using the tip of his cane, revealing the trio of orange rings etched into the boy's wrist.
"Oho?" the young man murmured, his hazel eyes gleaming. "Such a deep shade... Your mana purity is exceptional."
Michael flushed and instinctively pulled his hand back after a brief struggle.
"Forgive me," the man said, chuckling softly. "I was curious as to why Lord Winterborne included you in the tutoring. But now, I understand." His grin was crooked, playful.
"I'm Charles Gray, third-year student at Arcadia Magic Academy," he said, bowing with a graceful flair that almost made his earlier boldness seem out of character.
Arcadia Academy!? That's the best academy in the entire nation! Michael exclaimed inwardly.
At least that's what he'd heard.
But even more astounding was the fact that Charles was already a green-ringed mage—and so young at that. And not just any green-ringed mage, but one entrusted to tutor the Winterborne family.
Michael found himself staring, caught in a whirl of disbelief.
Charles let out an awkward cough. "How about we get started? I want to see what you know before Melody arrives."
"Of course..." Michael said, still a little dazed.
Charles strolled over to a nearby desk and leaned his cane against the chair. Turning back, he extended his hand. "Let's begin with some basic mana exercises."
Michael watched as the air above Charles's palm began to shimmer. At first, tiny motes of light flickered into existence, coalescing into a gentle mist. Then, before his eyes, that mist thickened—its texture turning fluid, glowing with a vibrant green hue.
An orb hovered just above his hand, swirling with a quiet grace.
"This is my mana, shaped by will alone—no spell, no incantation," Charles explained, his hazel eyes locked onto Michael. "Now you try."
Michael could hardly look away. This wasn't some flashy parlor trick—it was a controlled, precise manipulation of raw mana. Something most mages couldn't even attempt, let alone perform with such ease.
But... how the hell am I supposed to do that?
He'd only ever used spell-based incantations. In those cases, the mana moved on its own, guided by the spell's instructions. As long as he recited the words and focused on output, it worked—no real thought needed for the mana itself.
Until now, that was enough. As a white-ringed mage, it was all he could do.
But now?
Now, things were different.
Michael took a slow breath and closed his eyes. He visualized the mana flowing within his body. Like all mages, his energy coursed through his magic circuits—an internal network often called the meridians. These vein-like conduits served as the transportation system for mana, circulating the mystical energy throughout his form.
The meridians flowed throughout his whole body, but most importantly, it was connected to his inner palace—and the rings etched into his left wrist.
Michael sent out a tendril of will from his soul seated in his inner palace, stirring the mana within his meridians. At his urging, it gathered and surged toward his outstretched hand.
Opening his eyes, he focused on the center of his palm. The air shimmered faintly as orange particles rose like motes of light, their hue as deep and rich as the setting sun.
But the moment that mana left his body, it began to unravel. Michael's brow furrowed as he watched the energy drift aimlessly, the connection between it and his will severed almost instantly.
"Concentrate, Michael," Charles said gently. "Picture a pair of invisible hands shaping the mana into a sphere—containing it."
Michael exhaled slowly, taking in the advice. With unwavering focus, he envisioned scooping up the unruly mana, cradling it between cupped palms, guiding it back into place.
A burst of pure white light erupted from his hand, its brilliance searing.
"W-What the hell are you doing!?" Charles shouted, his voice rising in panic.
Startled, Michael jerked his hand back, heart pounding against his ribs. He didn't understand what he'd done—but judging by Charles's reaction, it wasn't normal.
The young tutor strode forward and seized Michael's wrist, his hazel eyes sharp with alarm.
"You fool! Are you insane?" he snapped.
Michael flinched, overwhelmed by confusion and rising fear. "What? What did I do?" he asked, shrinking back.
"You exposed your soul, you idiot! You should never—never—open your inner palace like that, let alone release your soul from your body."
Charles's grip tightened on his hand, as if grounding him by force.
"But I didn't..." Michael whispered, wide-eyed.
"There's no use lying to me," Charles interrupted, his tone firm. "I might not be much older than you, but I'm no fool. When a soul emerges from the body, it shines like the sun. There's no hiding it."
But my inner palace was sealed…
The protest echoed silently in Michael's mind, but seeing the gravity in Charles's expression, he held his tongue.
After a long pause, Charles finally let go of his hand.
"Listen carefully," he said, his voice calm again—but not relaxed. "Your soul should only ever remain inside your inner palace. The only exception is when you ascend a major realm. Only then should you release your soul into your body."
Michael's eyes sharpened, every word branded into his memory.
"You're a late-stage Ember Mage," Charles continued. "When you advance to the Crimson Stage, your mana will strengthen—and your soul will evolve. That's when you'll earn your first red ring. That's the natural process."
Michael stood frozen, the revelation striking something deep within him.
Mana can enhance the soul...?
His thoughts drifted to that terrifying day—the dead mage, the violet mana, the pain that had nearly torn him apart. The way it had entered his body... the way it had affected his soul.
He remembered the agony. The corruption.
But when he awoke, his soul was white.
Pure white.